Sleep which was my escape door
To my trembling thoughts of recurrence
Had shut it against me …. On its own will.
I believe it has done that for my lethargic labor;
Best I would focus on my thoughts –
I’d screen every moment of the mind
And weave the poetic fabric.
My mind wanders in the wilderness;
Lest that I would have it seized.
The poet is… his own form - the poem;
Akin the mirror which reflects his name.
The more he tries to flee the much he is seen
In the shadows of transparent watery verse
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In the shadow.. I like it, thanks.